


hold out your hand, take hold of mine

by whisperingwind



Series: epilepsy 'verse [20]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Epilepsy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Neurological Disorders, Seizures, Suicide Attempt, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 08:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19390639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperingwind/pseuds/whisperingwind
Summary: “We were fighting, weren’t we?”He can remember that, but he can’t remember where he is, Louis thought to himself. His shoulders slumped as a heavy sigh extracted itself from his lips. “We don’t need to talk about it right this second.”“What were we fighting about?”Or, the one where Harry and Louis both have their dark secrets and their choices are taking a toll on their marriage.Title from "Hold Out Your Hand" by Brandi Carlile





	hold out your hand, take hold of mine

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all!! HAPPY PRIDE! as a queer woman, i've brought you all a present:
> 
> but before you go on to read this, you should know this is a little different from the usual epilepsy parts. if you didn't see the tags, please be wary as you enter this section of the 'verse. darker themes are present, including drug use, overdose, and suicide.
> 
> as always, feel free to leave me story suggestions below - even if they don't pertain to epilepsy verse - or on my tumblr. feel free to give me a follow on twitter @medicinemixtape . thank you for kudos, hits, bookmarks, recs, comments, all that jazz. have a great day/night! huge love and cheers. emily.
> 
> thanks!

It was the middle of the night when Louis opened his mother-in-law’s patio door and stepped outside. Harry was leaning against the railing, back to Louis as he stared at the sky.

“What are you doing, love?” Louis asked, pulling the throw blanket he nabbed from the couch tightly around his shoulders. “It’s freezing out here.”  


It was the end of December, two days before Christmas, the dead of winter, and Harry was stood outside in a pair of boxers, an oversized sweatshirt, and socks stretched above his calves. Louis couldn’t help but think about how ridiculous Harry looked standing in front of him. He was an absolute menace.  


Though, the moment Louis focused on his surroundings, he noticed a potent muskiness followed by the clouds of smoke engulfing his husband.  


“Are you smoking?”  


Harry turned. His eyes appeared sunken, drooping slightly. The whites of his eyes were tinted a pinkish-red color, clearly bloodshot even in the poorly lit backdrop provided by the moon.  


“Hey,” he said.  


Louis smiled. “Hey.”  


“You wanna hit?” Harry asked, waving a lit, tightly rolled blunt in front of his face.  


“Well, since you asked so kindly…” He trailed off. “Don’t mind if I do.” He plucked the joint out of Harry’s hand and wedged it between his own lips. He took a long drag, the smoke filling his mouth, then he breathed it in, letting the drug settle deep in his lungs before exhaling. “Is this your last bit of it?” he asked.  


Harry furrowed his brow, then slowly shook his head. His reaction time had obviously been delayed as an effect of the cannabis. He patted his jacket pockets, then retrieved a small green envelope from the right one, showing it to Louis before slipping it back into his pocket. “I still have about two grams.”  


“Good,” Louis said. He inhaled the drug again. “Any particular reason you’re out here smoking at one in the morning or…?”  


“I was anxious,” Harry answered, reaching for the joint. He examined the white paper encasing the moss colored plant, “and my hands were spasming.” He brought the spliff to his lips and inhaled.  


It was one of Louis’ friends who had mentioned medical marijuana to them the first time. He said Harry could definitely get a med card without much of a hassle. The friend claimed to have had chronic back pain, told a doctor, and became eligible for a med card incredibly quick.

This was a relatively new venture for Harry. He had dabbled in smoking weed when One Direction was still an existent musical act, only because Zayn and Louis constantly smoked, ate, and used it in all forms. The first time he tried it in his later adult life, as he neared thirty, was for his seizures and it seemed to help lower the threshold. Not only did it aid with the intensity of his seizures, but his anxiety seemed to be affected too.  


“You could have woken me up. I wish you would have,” Louis said. “I hate waking up and you not being next to me. I reached for you and you weren't there."  


Harry nodded, saying nothing.

As Harry held the joint in front of him, Louis noticed how small it had gotten. It seemed to have shrunk so suddenly. He supposed his mind must have been elsewhere.  


“Do you want the last hit, babe?” Harry asked.  


Louis shook his head. “All yours.”

His husband took one last hit, then dropped what was left of the joint, the roach, on the pavement, crushing it under his clothed heel.

“Back to this hand spasming thing. I-“ Louis began-

Harry interrupted. “-not now. Let’s enjoy our surroundings, eh? We never just sit around and appreciate stuff. Take a look up at the sky. See that constellation there?” he asked, casually gesturing to somewhere near the right side of the moon.  


“No.”

“That there is Ursa Major,” Harry declared. “Er, actually, I think it’s Ursa Minor. Wait.” He paused. “Actually, I don’t know. It’s one of the Ursas. Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, same thing.”  


Louis bit the inside of his cheek as he observed the sky. Sure, there was a faint sprinkling of stars, though he doubted any of them together created a constellation.  


“Harry,” he sighed.  


Harry lowered his gaze. Dull eyes narrowing in on Louis. His left eye was slightly unfocused as it usually was. It was cute. Louis always found it endearing.  _ The perk of having a lazy eye is your husband finding it attractive _ , Louis thought to himself. He wanted to pepper kisses all over his face right then, but knew it wasn’t an appropriate time. He had something serious he needed to discuss with Harry.  


“How long are we going to pretend that everything is okay?” he asked.  


"Ah, fuck me." Harry blinked. “I’m not high enough for this.”

“I can’t keep pretending. It’s  _ killing _ me,” he admitted. “It’s been three weeks of you avoiding me and hardly talking to me and pushing me away. I love you, but I hate that you’re avoiding me. Can’t we just talk about it? We’re married for fuck’s sake. We’re supposed to be able to talk about these things.”  


He wasn’t intentionally cornering Harry. It wasn’t like since he knew Harry was under the influence he decided to use that specific vulnerability against him. He would never purposely stoop so low. His thoughts were merely slipping out before he had had the chance to filter through them.  


“And you reckon now is the time to discuss this?” Harry’s voice was tight. And cold. It was tight and cold and Louis couldn’t hardly bear it. It was like Harry didn’t even care. Like Harry didn’t even realize what he was putting Louis through.  


“If not now, when?”

“When I’m ready.”

He rubbed his hand across his face in frustration. “I need you to be ready now. I need you to tell me why, Harry. Do you want me to beg? Do you want me to get down on my knees and plead for an answer? Because if that’s what you want, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you to be honest with me. I want our marriage to be okay.”

Harry glanced towards his mum’s house. Louis’ gaze followed suit. He noticed a light on the second floor had flicked on. It was Anne’s bedroom as they were standing directly below it and weren’t making an effort to keep their voices level.  


“Later. We can talk about it later. I’m not trying to keep my mum awake, alright? Let’s go to bed. We can discuss this in the morning.”

“Do you actually mean that?”

“I don’t know if I’ve meant anything I’ve said.” Harry shrugged. “Let’s go to bed. I'm knackered.”  


Rather than argue with him, Louis slumped his shoulders in defeat and followed his broad, muscular husband into the house, quietly tiptoeing up the stairs behind him.

The next morning, as soon as the words “we need to talk” left Louis’ mouth, Harry grew annoyed. The more he told Louis he didn’t want to talk about it, the more Louis prodded him for an answer which quickly led to an intense altercation.  


Before too much damage could be exchanged through harsh words, Anne called them downstairs for breakfast.  


As soon as they walked into the kitchen, they were greeted with a loud "happy birthday Louis!".

"Happy birthday, daddy!" Kyra yelled as an afterthought. 

He grinned. "Thank you darling, thank you, guys."

On the dining table was a platter of sausage, bacon, and Canadian bacon, a bowl of scrambled eggs, a stack of golden brown pancakes, and two pitchers - one of orange juice and another of sweetened iced coffee.  


“Oh, you’ve really outdone yourself, Anne,” Louis said, amazed by the gorgeous food prepared before him.  


“Papa, look!” Kyra, their five year old daughter, squeaked, wiggling in her seat. “Grandma put a smiley face on my pancake! See, it’s whipped cream!”

Louis gasped. “Would you look at that! How lovely. Your grandma is quite an artist, isn’t she?” He kissed the top of her head, then sat beside her.  


“Grandma did mine too!” Aiden, Gemma’s three year old son, shouted, making it known to all the adults that Grandma Anne did not have a favorite grandchild.  


Louis, of course, already knew this.  


“Easy, buddy.” Gemma’s husband, Michal, reached over and ruffled his hair. “You should be using your inside voice, remember?”  


“Don’t worry, dear. Grandma has more than enough love for both her darlings,” Anne promised. She stood by the stove, plastic spatula in hand. More food sizzled in a pan below her.  


“Mum, why don’t you sit down?” Harry prompted, walking to her. “I’m capable of flipping a few pancakes. Enjoy the food you slaved over, yeah?”

Anne laughed. “Oh, Harry. Now, don’t be silly. I quite enjoy cooking for a full house.”  


“I know, but you should also have a chance to eat. Let me finish up for you.” Without giving her a chance to protest, he pulled the spatula out of her grasp and placed a hand on the small of her back, gently pushing her toward the table.  


“A pest as always,” Gemma joked.  


Anne sighed, sliding into the chair beside Louis. “How did you sleep? I’m sorry that the two of you are stuck with the smallest bed.”

Louis grinned. “It’s quite alright. I appreciate you letting us stay.”

He spent the night sleeping practically on top of Harry. Sweaty flesh touched sweaty flesh as the two struggled for comfort atop the full sized mattress. Harry’s arms were wrapped around him the entire night. His face was buried in the back of Louis’ shoulder and their bare legs remained entangled.  


“Of course. I love having everyone under the same roof,” Anne said.

“And we love being here,” Michal added.  


“Kiss-ass,” Harry mumbled. The sizzle of the uncooked side of the pancake touching the greased pan exploded from the stove.  


Louis looked over his shoulder, eyeing Harry up and down. His Adidas track pants hugged his thighs and bum tightly while the hoodie he wore, the same one from last night, contradicted the form fitted style of the pants. At closer glance Louis could tell he was wearing his own merch. His coined phrase ‘treat people with kindness’ embedded into the left sleeve was hard to miss. His hair was unruly, carelessly styled, shaved slightly on the sides and wavy on top.  


Why wouldn’t he talk to him? Why couldn’t they have an open conversation about what happened? It wasn’t fair to him. It wasn’t fair for Harry to hold back when all Louis wanted to do was find a solution to the problem at hand.  


But maybe, just maybe, Harry didn’t view it as a problem. Maybe it was just another day in the life of superstar Harry Styles. In which case, Louis has some serious prodding to do.  


“Don’t burn those pancakes, little brother,” Gemma warned, a sternness evident in her tone.  


When Louis adjusted his line of sight back to his plate, he noticed Anne’s gaze was fixed on him. “What’s up?” he asked.  


“Something feels off,” she said, lowering her voice as Michal and Gemma absorbed the attention of the two children present. “You and Harry… is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Anne. No worries.”

She pursed her lips, clearly not fooled by Louis’ attempt to avoid the subject. “You know, Harry may be my son, but you are too. If something’s going on, you can tell me.” She paused. “Is it- it’s not divorce is it? Are you getting a divorce?”

“Oh God, no.” Louis forced a laugh. “It’s never even crossed my mind.”

“Then?”

“Harry spent some time in the hospital a few weeks ago,” he admitted. While he hated to throw Harry under the bus, he couldn't keep secrets any longer. He needed someone on his side. “The trip to L.A. to see the Crawfords? It never happened.”  


“Was it a bad seizure? He doesn’t usually need to stay for long,” Anne noted. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she tried to process what was being told to her. She was confused.  


“It wasn’t because of a seizure,” he said.

Anne shook her head. “I don’t understand what you’re telling me,” she said. “If he wasn’t in the hospital for a seizure then what-“

“You fucking told my _mum_?” Harry asked, very suddenly, consequently tossing the spatula aside on the counter. “What the fuck, Louis? What’s wrong with you? You promised that it would stay between you and me!”

Kyra jumped at her dad’s booming voice reverberating off the walls, fork falling into her food, smearing the whipped cream decorating her pancake. Aiden began to cry.  


“Hush, it’s okay,” Gemma cooed, collecting Aiden into her arms. She rocked him back and forth. “Harry, relax. You’re scaring the kids.”  


“I can’t believe you,” Harry hissed, voice now at a more moderate level.  


Louis stood. “Harry, it’s not like that. I-“  


“-You what?” he sneered. “Lied to me?”

“ _ Harry _ , please.” He stepped closer to him. “Hear me out.”  


“Love, pardon my ignorance, but what’s the issue?” Anne asked. “It was a hospital visit. Why does it need to be some big secret? How is this any different from any other time?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Harry huffed. “Nobody understands.” He turned on his heel and ascended up the stairs, feet stomping against the wooden steps.  


“I should go talk to him,” Louis said.

“Give him some time to cool down,” Gemma offered, placing a supportive hand on his forearm. “Why was he so upset anyway? Mum is right. Why is this time any different?”  


Louis opened his mouth, then shut it. “I’ll explain later. Now is not the time.” With those words, he followed Harry’s suit and trekked the stairs.  


He could hear commotion happening in the guest room. Objects being thrown around and angry words spewing out of his husband’s mouth like a fiery monologue. He stepped into the room.

“Let’s talk about this,” he said.

“No.”

“Harry-“

“-I said no.”

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Harry, I-“ he tried to initiate conversation again, but was interrupted by the loud thud of his husband throwing his suitcase on the floor- “Harry, stop for a second. Can you-“ Again, he was interrupted by more disturbances. Harry ripped his clothes off the floor and shoved them into his suitcase- “Listen to me. Harry, would you fucking listen to me?”  


Harry didn’t speak. He didn’t acknowledge Louis. He continued to disorderly toss articles of clothing into his bag.

“You can’t just leave. This is your mother’s house,” he snapped. “Where are you gonna go?”

“Home.”

Louis furrowed his brows. “And how do you plan on getting there? You can’t drive.”  


“I’ll take a fucking Uber,” Harry hissed, then hung his head, eyes narrowed on the clothing sloppily tossed into his bag. 

"What are you gonna tell your poor mum?"

No response.

“You’re really gonna go home the day before Christmas? On my birthday? Because I brought something up?”

“In front of my mother. You brought it up in front of my mother. Something I told you to never bring up again,” Harry argued. “You always have to go and run your mouth, don’t you? What happens in our home, stays in our home. I would never, ever dare to tell your mother your personal business. I never went along and told her about your drug problems.”

“Maybe because my mother is  _ dead _ ,” Louis spoke, harshly. As soon as the words left his mouth, he watched the color drain from Harry’s face.  


“I-“ Harry started to say, looking at him, eye to eye, for the first time- “Uh. I’m sorry, Louis. It wasn’t a fair argument and I’m sorry.”  


Louis ignored his apology. “I’m trying to look out for you. Why don’t you understand that? You needing to go see a therapist because you’re suicidal isn’t comparable to me snorting a line of coke here and there. It’s in the past.”  


“Yeah. Because doing coke is good for you.” Harry scoffed. “Once an addict, always an addict. Addictions don’t ever go away. The fact that you’re normalizing an addiction is a problem.”

_It was early in their marriage the first time Louis started using again. He had used in their One Direction days, but after getting clean he promised Harry that he would never do as much as stay in a room where cocaine was being used._

_His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He could hear the organ banging against his sternum, demanding to be heard. The rapid thump was in his ears. It was a knocking that wasn't truly there. His body felt hot, overworked almost. Like he had finished a rigorous workout moments before._

_But he hadn't. He hadn't worked out. He wasn't in the gym. There wasn't an exercise machine to be seen. He was high. He had snorted a line. He was standing in front of his house. His friend was holding him up._

_"Don't know why you do this to yourself," his friend, Tyler, said. He knocked on the door. "Is your husband even home?"_

_"My baby is always home! He doesn't go anywhere, ever. But you know what? You know what? I love him so much for that. So lovely that one. I'm so lucky. I can always count on him! Other people? Nah, they don't do shit for me. I love him. Fuck, I love him."_

_His words were slurred. The alcohol-cocaine combo was never a fun one. He didn't know why he never hesitated when the powdery drug was offered to him. It was like he couldn't say no. The euphoria he felt was otherwise unattainable. It flowed through his whole body. Nothing could beat the high he felt dancing in a club, swallowed up by the crowd of drunk young adults, while listening to trashy EDM remixes of popular hip-hop songs._

_"I don't know, man." Tyler continued to knock. "He's not answering. If he doesn't answer, I'm gonna have to dump you at a motel or something. You're fucked up."_

_He could hear Bruce barking inside. He sounded ferocious, which was funny because Bruce was the sweetest, friendliest dog Louis had ever seen. Then, Harry opened the door. Louis could still remember how he looked. He wore a fluffy blue robe and bright orange socks. An odd combo, but Louis thought he looked endearing as ever. His hair, which was still long at the time, was pulled into a bun. On his face were faded mascara streaks (Louis assumed he had been experimenting with makeup that evening) and a look of sheer fear._

_"Hey Tyler..." he said, apprehensively. "Um, what's going on?"_

_"M y baby!" Louis laughed, tripping over his feet as he sped forward to hug Harry. He was oversalivating. His mouth hung open in a permanent grin. _

_ It felt like Harry was trying to pull away from him; he tightened his hold. Bruce growled at him. He was inbetween Harry's legs, ready to attack any moment. It didn't seem to matter that Louis was half his owner. He wanted to hurt him anyway.  _

_ "What did he take?" Harry asked.  _

_ "Did some coke," Tyler replied. "We thought he was going to overdose for a minute, but he's cool now. He did another line right before I got him in the car, so the high should wear off any minute."  _

_ "I love you," Louis whispered, aggressively kissing and biting at Harry's neck. "God, you're so fucking hot. I'm gonna fuck you right here. I'm gonna fuck you right here and I'm gonna make Tyler watch me put my cock in your ass."  _

_ "Oh my God! Louis, stop," Harry hissed, arching his neck.  _

_ Tyler raised his eyebrows. "I think I should go."  _

_ "I think that's a good fucking idea," Harry snapped. "I don't want you around him anymore. He was seven months clean. Look what you fucking did."  _

_ "I- I'm sorry," Tyler uttered, then scurried off the porch, disappearing into the night.  _

_ Harry shut the door. Louis was still attached to him. _

_ Louis rubbed himself against Harry, practically humping his thigh. "I want you, God I fucking want you. Let me fuck you."  _

_ "Would you stop?" Harry pulled away from him. His expression softened. "I think it's time for bed, don't you? Come on, babe. I'll get you some water."  _

_ With Harry's help, Louis laid on the couch and instantly fell asleep.  _

_ He woke that morning with a dreadful headache. Harry was asleep on the floor. He looked uncomfortable. Their hands were intertwined. _

Louis rubbed his hand over his face, dragging his fingers across his eyes. He was growing angry. “This isn’t about me, Harry. You need help.”  


“And you don’t?”  


“For fuck’s sake!” he shouted, growing red in the face. “This isn’t about me! I know, I fucking know I was a cokehead! You don’t need to throw it in my face every time the opportunity arises, okay? Jesus Christ, why is it such a problem that I care about you, huh? That I don’t want to find you like I did a few weeks ago?”

Harry looked away from him. “You don’t know anything. I don’t expect you to understand.”  


“You keep saying that. What is that supposed to mean to me?”

Harry stayed silent.  


“I do know something.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“I know that I found you half dead on the bathroom floor and I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.”

He tried not to think back to the other night, but how could he not? It was the worst moment of his whole life.  


_ He had finished at the studio about an hour prior, picked up an large extra cheese pizza (Harry’s favorite) and returned to home, but as soon as he walked into the house something felt off.  
_

_ Maybe it was the lack of his sweet little girl sitting on the couch, in her pajamas, waiting for him to return home. No, he remembered, five year old Kyra was at her grandmother’s house, baking cookies for the Church. _

_ Bruce was laying on the couch, whining, face buried against the cushion.  
_

_ “Hey buddy,” Louis said, setting the box of pizza down on the arm of the couch. “What’s up?” He asked, running his fingers through the dog’s plush coat.  
_

_ Bruce turned his head toward Louis, sniffing his fingers, then whined, dropping his head in defeat. _

_ “Are you sick, pal?” he asked, concerned. “Did Harry forget to feed you?” _

_ As soon as Harry’s name crossed his mind, he immediately looked up, noticing that he wasn’t in the living space as he usually was. Often times if he wasn’t in in the den, he was asleep in their bedroom, which usually meant he had experienced a seizure earlier in the day. He never went to bed earlier than eleven on days that Louis worked. He liked to wait for Louis to come home, even if it wasn’t until later in the evening, because then they would have a meal and watch a film together which often led to sex.  
_

_ “Harry?” he called, thinking perhaps his husband was in the bathroom or different section of the house. He was met with complete silence, thus making him assume Harry was asleep in their bedroom. “I’ll be back down in a minute, babe,” he said to Bruce, gently dragging his fingers through his thick coat.  
_

_ He walked upstairs, hand running atop the staircase railing. The stairs creaked underneath his feet. As he approached the second floor of his home, he could hear the low humming of the television in the master bedroom. Underneath the door, through the cracks, he could make out the blue and purplish tint of the electronic lighting.  
_

_ Louis found it to be odd. When Harry laid down for the night, especially after a seizure, he would turn the television off. Otherwise, it would irritate him, building a wild restlessness inside him leaving him unable to sleep. He needed utter silence in order to sleep whereas Louis found it easier to have some type of background noise. He usually wore headphones to bed in order to avoid disturbing Harry. He liked to listen to his own customized playlists or random Youtube videos.   
_

_ He walked towards the bedroom door, placed his hand on the knob, and waited, listening for any indication that Harry was moving around. He heard nothing.  
_

_ He opened the door and stepped inside. To his dismay, the sheets and comforter on the bed were untouched. It was clear that no one had touched the bed since that morning. _

_ The room was cold. The television was on as was the bathroom light. The yellowish light seeped underneath the door. As he approached the master bathroom, he could hear water running from the faucet, but not from the shower.  
_

_ “Harry?” Louis called, rapping his knuckles against the wooden door. “Harry, are you okay?”  
_

_ Nothing.  
_

_ He sighed, furrowing his brows. “Harry?” he called, louder.  
_

_ His first thought was Harry had a seizure in the bathroom. For all he knew, Harry could have hit his head. He didn’t know how long Harry could have been laying on the floor for. He never took his phone into the bathroom with him.  
_

_ Louis tried the doorknob. It was locked.  
_

_ “Fuck,” he murmured, heading over to the nightstand by his side of the bed. He kept an extra set of keys for all the rooms in the house in case he needed to get to Harry. He sorted through the key ring until he found the one he needed, then brought it to the bathroom door.  
_

_ With shaky hands, he inserted the key into the slot and twisted it to the left. As soon as the door creaked open, his stomach clenched and blood ran cold. It was far worse than what he had initially imagined.  
_

_ The sink was overfilling, flooding the bathroom floor. Water splashed against the tile, inching towards Louis’ feet. An opened orange prescription pill bottle and bottle of white whisky sat on the kitchen counter, both of their caps missing. Harry was slumped against the wall, face completely flushed, paler than the first patchy snowfall of the year.  
_

_ “What did you do?” Louis blurted, instantaneously dropping to his knees in front of his husband. Cold water soaked his pants, denim stuck to his skin. “Harry, look at me. Harry,” he called, resting his palm on his lover’s cheek.  
_

_ Harry’s eyes were hardly open. His eyelids were glossy and heavy, drooping. Small slits of green and blown pupils were all that was evident to Louis.  
_

_ “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” Louis mumbled, voice catching in his throat. His chest rapidly rose and fell, body heaving. He was scared. “What did you take? How much did you take?”  
_

_ Sweat stained Harry’s clammy forehead and cheeks. His hair was slicked across his face with the bodily fluid. His armpits and collar of his shirt were damp with sweat.  
_

_ Louis squeezed Harry’s cheek, attempting to extract a reaction out of him. “Look at me. Harry, goddammit, look at me.”  
_

_ Harry weakly shook his head, back of his head pressed against the wall. He shut his eyes. His breathing was labored.  
_

_ Louis reached in his back pocket for his phone, wet fingers struggling to grasp the case. He dialed the number for emergency services and through stumbled words explained that his husband had overdosed, but he wasn’t exactly sure what or how much he had taken. _

_ “Should I-” Louis sobbed- “Does he- I could move him into the shower? Should I do that? What can I do to help him?”  
_

_ “Sir, you need to wait for Emergency Services to arrive,” the operator said, calmly. “The temperature change of the water could cause your husband to go into shock.”  
_

_ He kept his hand on Harry’s cheek, jostling him. “You need to stay awake, Harry. Don’t go to sleep on me. Help is on the way.”  
_

_ His eyes widened as he watched Harry’s body slump forward with a gag. He set his phone aside, atop of the toilet seat, and grabbed his husband’s shoulders. _

_ “Harry, you have to throw it up,” Louis begged. “Baby, you’re gonna choke. Throw it up. Throw it up, please.”  
_

_ And he did, vomiting down Louis’ back.  
_

_ Louis didn’t react to the sudden hot substance dripping down his back, instead grabbing his husband’s chin with one hand, holding his head up, so he wouldn’t suffocate on his own vomit. His head fell limp in his hand. _

_ “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered. “I need you to hold on for me, lover. I’m not having you die like this on me.”  
_

“Like I said,” Harry snapped. “You don’t know anything. You don’t get it.”  


Louis shut his eyes, exhaling on a sigh. “What don’t I get?” He opened his eyes. “If you can explain to me what it is I don’t get, then I will leave you alone. I’ll let you go home.”  


Harry scoffed. “I’m leaving.” He pulled the lid of his suitcase over and zipped the black bag, securing his luggage.

“What are you going to tell your poor mother? ‘I’m sorry that I’m insecure with the way I feel and my relationship with my husband, so I’m going home to loathe’?”

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Harry asked. “You think you know it all. Well, if you were in my shoes, you’d actually understand where I’m coming from.”  


Louis didn’t understand where Harry was coming from. Aside from the epilepsy, which remained a constant throughout the years, it seemed there was nothing else wrong in Harry’s life, at least currently. He didn’t know what it was that pushed his husband to overdose on his anxiety medicine and chase it with whiskey.  


“What could possibly be so bad in your life that you would even contemplate suicide?”  


Harry shook his head, leaning down to grab the handle of his suitcase. “I’m going to call an Uber,” he said, calmly. “I’ll see you after Christmas.”  


Louis mouth fell open.  _ Unbelievable _ , he thought to himself.  


Harry walked out of the guest bedroom and edged toward the stairs, carefully tugging his luggage behind him. Each time the pack of clothing and toiletries descended to the next step a loud thud ensued.  


Louis wasn’t going to let him leave, not like this. It had only been a month since the incident at the house, so Harry being left home alone, clearly upset, for several days wasn’t ideal. Louis wasn’t going to let it happen, not again, not when he had control over the situation.  


“You’re being fucking ridiculous,” Louis said. “At least stay through the holidays, would you?”

Anne’s cat had her tail partially wrapped around one of the legs of the coffee table, purring as she rubbed against it, pampering herself. She looked up, head titled as Harry made a mad dash for the front door and Louis followed closely behind.  


“What in God’s name is going on out here?” Anne asked, appearing from the kitchen with a worried expression. She wore a festive red apron, one depicting Frosty the Snowman in the midst of melting into a puddle with the caption, ‘ _ I’M HAVING A MELTDOWN’ _ in green text below it. In her hand was a white wooden spoon with a long handle, frosting of some sort appeared to be dripping off of it, streaking the tile beneath her feet, though she didn’t seem to mind.

Behind her stood Gemma and her boyfriend, Michal, their  _ Elf _ shirts covered in powdered sugar. Michal had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her snug against his side. Kyra and Aidan, Gemma’s three year old son, sat at the kitchen table, decorating sugar cookies with frosting and colorful sprinkles.

“I’m going home,” Harry said, simply. He let go of his suitcase, bending down to pick through the shoes scattered in front of the door for his pair of black Vans.  


“You  _ are _ home,” Anne answered, hurt laced in her tone.  


Louis turned his head to look at her, then brought his attention back to Harry who was currently tying and securing his left shoe. “Didn’t I tell you this would happen? You hurt your mother’s feelings because you’re being selfish.”

“Don’t call me selfish, Louis,” Harry warned. “I am  _ not _ selfish.”  


“Harry, why don’t you stay a bit longer?” Gemma asked, kindly. “We haven’t even finished cooking for tonight. You can help mum with the ham. She needs someone to take a torch to it to glaze it better.”  


Harry stood upright, reaching for his coat off the rack. He swung the cotton material over his shoulder, pulling one arm through a sleeve, then the other. “I have other plans.”  


It had gotten dark outside for being the morning. A switch in the sky had flipped, turning the bright blue to a dull grey. Michal had shoveled the driveway that morning, but as snowflakes sprinkled down from the sky, they stuck to the ground, coating the ground in a new, thick layer of white fluff.

“Is it a half bottle of Valium and shot of whiskey?” Louis asked. Again, as soon as the words left his mouth, he watched the color drain from Harry’s face. Though this time his skin didn’t fade white, rather erupted red, stemming from the apples of his cheeks.  


His question provoked curiosity out of Harry’s family as the two women and Michal glanced at him, confusion set deep in their eyes.  


“Now, what does that mean?” Anne asked. She was met with silence. “Harry? What does Louis mean by that?”  


Harry glared at Louis. His nostrils flared. His lips tightened, twitching at the corners. Tears were surfacing in his eyes. The whites of his eyes slowly turned bloodshot while he irises became a purer, more outstanding green.  


“You can’t just keep your fucking mouth shut for once, can you?” he shouted. It wasn’t often that he raised his voice. “God, I am so sick of being babied. I learned my lesson, okay? I was the one who had the fucking tube shoved down my throat. I was the one who woke up feeling guilty. I’m the one with a fucking restriction on every damn thing I do.”  


Louis narrowed his eyes. “Is that what this is about? You feel like I’ve been babying you? I haven’t been babying you, Harry. I just want you to be okay. Aren’t I allowed to care? Especially after what happened?”  


“What is going on?” Anne asked. “Is there something I need to know about?”  


Harry shook his head. “You don’t understand.”  


“You keep saying that. I don’t understand, I don’t understand, I don’t understand. What the  _ fuck  _ don’t I understand, Harry?”  


Harry’s attention was locked on his phone. The bluish light tinted his face, highlighting the aggravated expression spanned across his features. “My Uber is four minutes away. I’ll wait outside,” he said, then looked toward his mum, actively acknowledging her for the first time. “I’ll ring you once I get home, mum.”  


“Harry, I don’t understand,” Anne said. “Don’t you want to spend Christmas with your family?”  


Rather than bombarding her with a false answer, he reached for his luggage, gripped the handle, and began to hurry out the door.  


Still, Louis was not willing to let him leave without as much as a candid answer. He wanted to know what was wrong. He was determined to figure out what was wrong.  


He grabbed his arm. “Harry, stop. Talk to me.”

“Leave me alone.”  


Louis noticed the quiver in his voice. “Are you okay? I think you need to sit down.”  


“No, I’m-  _ great _ ,” he muttered, then began to pat his jacket pockets. “I left my fucking wallet in the room.” He yanked his arm away from Louis, let go of his suitcase and headed to the stairs.

Unfortunately, Harry didn’t make it far before he froze, either foot on a different step. It always seemed to happen in slow motion. Time managed to standstill, even if it was for half of a second. Harry’s unmoving frame added to the feeling that time was nothing but a construct of the mind. He was halfway up the stairs when Louis noticed the hand that wasn’t gripping the railing moved to clutch his head. His expression was pained.  


“Harry-”  


It was too late. Harry’s body visibly constricted once, twice, three times, relaxing in between each full body cramp, then he collapsed, falling stiffly down the few steps he had climbed.  


“Fuck me,” Louis hissed, eyes widening. There was always a way for bad day to evolve into a worse day. Any anger he felt toward Harry diminished as his priorities rearranged themselves. He stood over Harry for a moment, thinking about what the most appropriate course of action was. Harry had fell strangely, twisted at his waist. His upper body remained on the steps. His cheek was squished against one of the carpeted steps.

“Easy, lover. We’re gonna take it easy. I’m gonna move you so you’re lying comfortably. Can you help me do that?” he asked, softly. When he didn’t receive a coherent reply, he realized Harry was too far gone. He carefully grabbed under Harry’s arms and eased him down the last few steps. As soon as he turned him over and glanced at his face, he made out the blood seeping out of his hairline, droplets of crimson dripping down his temple like syrup off a popsicle.

By this time, Louis could feel eyes on him. Anne and Gemma were clearly standing behind him, watching his every move as he cared for Harry who was moments away from slipping under the strong chokehold of a seizure. Michal seemed to have stayed behind in the kitchen. Louis could just barely make out his conversation with the kids.  


“Ah, you hit your head. It’s alright. It’s going to be alright,” Louis whispered, smudging the blood with his fingers as he searched for the wound. He was unable to find it and didn’t have time to waste exploring. “We need to get you on your side, okay?” He liked to converse with Harry. It made him feel less like he was invalidating him. “Let’s get you on your side, sweets. I’ll get your head fixed up once you come to.”  


“I-” Harry sobbed- “I don’t- don’t- don’t want.”  


Louis’ heart hurt. Seeing this version of Harry, this vulnerable and scared version, frustrated him. It made his head and his chest hurt. “I know you don't, love. I know.” He carefully aided Harry on his side. He had managed to lay him a couple feet away from the stairwell so he wouldn’t injure himself when the convulsions started. “You’re going to be fine, baby. Just fine.”  


“No-” The veins in Harry’s neck seemed to become more prominent, darkening as he began to strain- “No, seize-” Harry continued trying to talk to Louis, though his words began to slur too much, becoming incomprehensible. Louis could tell he was seconds from losing consciousness due to his eyes rolling in their sockets.  


“You don’t have to talk, babes. It’s alright, shh,” Louis hushed. “Shh, it’s alright. Try to relax for me.  


Anne knelt down beside him, sliding a folded thrown blanket under his head. “I told Gemma to fetch a towel for his lap.” She rubbed her thumb against Harry’s arm. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”  


“Thank you,” Louis said. “He’s gonna go any second.”  


A loud cry exploded past Harry’s lips. Louis turned his head to look at him. “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe. You can do it here. Your mum and I are gonna be with you the whole time.”  


Before Louis even finished his sentence, Harry had loudly squealed then began to convulse. Anne and Louis moved back, watching as inhumane jerks and spasms controlled his being. Blood infused spit began to spew out of his mouth like a faulty faucet, so much that it sounded like he was choking on it.  


Louis knew better. Louis knew he wasn’t chokin, rather the saliva and blood had begun to accumulate and his tongue was lapping against the roof of his mouth. There was no need to force his head one way and risk injuring him to drain his mouth. He was on his side. He couldn’t choke.

“Hand me the towel, please,” he requested, holding his hand out.

Anne handed it over. He draped it over Harry’s lap. It didn’t matter that he had wet himself. Anne didn’t care. Gemma didn’t care. Louis certainly didn’t care, but Harry did. If he came to and saw that it was evident that he had peed all over himself he would be mortified.  


“Keep breathing for me, baby,” Louis whispered, examining his body for any sign of lacerations or bruises. Aside from the cut on his head, Louis didn’t notice any. “It’s almost over.”  


“He’s coming up on two minutes,” Gemma said from behind him.  


Louis nodded. “Okay. He’s starting to slow down. That’s it, baby. You’re okay.” He moved closer, kneeling over him as the seizure stopped. Carefully, he slid his hand under Harry’s head and tilted it, draining his mouth. He used his sleeve to wipe the saliva off his husband’s lips. “There we go, Harry. Try to come to for me. I’m right here.”  


He used his free hand to brush Harry’s hair off his clammy face. “You’re alright. I’m so proud of you, baby. You did so good.”  


Harry quickly began to stir, groaning as he moved.  


“Easy.” Louis placed his hand on his shoulder, holding him still. “Take it easy. Don’t move yet, love. You just had a seizure.”

His sunken eyes wandered. They had taken on an almond shape, eyelids drooping, as he could hardly keep them open.  


“I’ll get the couch ready for him,” Anne said as she stood. She grabbed Gemma’s hand and led her over to the dark green sofa.  


Louis assumed it was her attempt of giving him alone time with Harry. Harry usually responded best when it was only Louis encouraging him to come to. Louis figured it was less frustrating for him to open his eyes and have only one person watching and talking to him rather than three or four.  


“Hey, hey. Look at me,” Louis guided, moving his hand to Harry’s cheek. His thumb glided across his cheekbone. “Do you know where you are?”  


Cue rapid blinking and lack of a response.  


“That’s alright. You’re at your mum’s house. Do you know who I am?” he asked, careful to not overwhelm Harry.  


Harry acknowledged him this time, mumbling his name over and over, “Louis...Louis...Louis.”  


“That’s right. I’m here, baby. Let’s-”  


As soon as the words left his mouth, he was interrupted by Harry vomiting half-digested toast on the floor. His body lurched forward with each gag. The action must have been burning his throat or disturbing his psyche even further because as soon as the vomiting ensued, he began to sob, loudly.

Louis placed his hand on his thigh, offering his support by rubbing patterns into the denim clad against his flesh. “It’s alright. It’s not a big deal. We’ll get it cleaned up later, love. I need you to relax for me.”  


Harry stopped vomiting, but his sobbing continued.  


Louis carefully moved to his other side, guiding him away from the puddle of vomit. He pulled his head on his lap, allowing his head to loll between his thighs, and brushed his fingers through his damp hair. As he did so, he searched for the wound causing him to bleed. It was near his hairline, easily fixed up with some ointment and a bandage. “Don’t cry, Harry. It’s okay. It’s not a big deal,” he said again. He moved his hand to Harry’s cheek, wiping tears away with his thumb.  


“Where?” Harry cried.

“We’re at your mum’s house,” he explained. “For Christmas. You had a seizure.”  


“Seizure,” Harry mumbled. It was more of a statement, an acknowledgement even, than a question. “Bad?” He had stopped crying, but his eyes were red and swollen.  


“Not terrible,” Louis answered. “Do you think you can get up, love? I want to get you on the couch.”  


Harry didn’t speak. For Louis, it was always strange to see how quickly Harry’s behavior would switch in his postictal state. Often, it felt as though they could go from having full conversations to Harry not comprehending a word he was saying in nothing flat.  


“Harry?” he pressed.  


Still nothing.  


“Okay.” He kissed his forehead before untangling himself. He kept a hand on Harry while moving to stand. He bent down, easing Harry into a position that would make it easier for him to help him to his feet. “Let me see your arm, love.”  


He guided Harry’s arm around his shoulders, then wrapped his own arm around Harry’s waist. “Okay, let’s get you standing.” He mentally counted to three then hoisted Harry to his feet, but as soon as he had him somewhat standing Harry’s legs gave out, gravity trying to yank him to the ground.  


“Alright, alright,” Louis grunted. “I’ve got you. It’s alright. Walk with me, love. Walk with me.” He could say anything he wanted because the truth was Harry wasn’t comprehending any of it.  


Right now, Harry was as good as dead weight as Louis carried him over to Anne’s couch. His shoulders were slumped. His shoes were dragging against the carpet. His breathing was labored.  


It was always hard to understand that this version of Harry  _ was _ Louis’ beloved husband. He was the man who often waited up into the early hours of the morning, swaddled in a thick blanket, fuzzy socks for Louis to return home from work. He was the man who had the ability to get high off nothing more than a few drags of a joint. He was the man who woke up early, made Kyra breakfast, and took her to school without complaint. He was the person Louis loved most. And finally, he was the man who had battled epilepsy since the beginning of his life and stronger than anyone Louis had ever known, let alone dated.  


“Here we go, baby,” Louis said, helping him lay down on the couch. Harry’s head rolled back against the cushion, eyes losing the fight to stay open. “You can sleep. I’m just gonna help you freshen up a bit.”  


“Louis.”  


When Louis looked up, he saw Anne standing behind the couch, a folded blanket and a pair of sweatpants in her hands. 

“I figured he’d need these,” she said.

Louis swallowed. “Thank you.”  


“We need to talk about what’s going on, Louis.”

“I know, and we will.”  


Anne forced a smile, handing the items to Louis. “Michal found out that the town is putting on a Christmas Treasure Hunt. We’re going to take the kids so Harry has some time to rest.”  


“That’s great,” he replied. “Are all of you going?”  


She nodded. “We’ll be back no later than four or five. Hopefully, he’ll be feeling better by then for dinner.”  


“We can hope.”  


Anne walked away. Louis peeled Harry’s shoes and socks off and neatly tucked them underneath the coffee table. Next, he unbuttoned his pants. It was difficult to shimmy his jeans and underpants off as Harry was out cold, doing nothing to assist his husband with putting his new pair of pants on.  


Once the pair of sweatpants was on, Louis worked his jacket off, sliding one arm out of the sleeve, then the other, and carefully pulled it out from under him, setting it on top of the coffee table. Harry hadn’t even stirred. He looked peaceful. Eyes shut, but not clenched. Chest rising with ease, not heaving.  


“I love you,” he said, brushing Harry’s hair off his face. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”  


He sat on the carpet, back pressed against the sofa, knees drawn up. The television was off. He could only hear murmurs coming from the kitchen and Harry’s snores from behind him.  


He watched as Michal, Gemma, Anne and the kids came out of the dining area. Kyra looked at him, an odd expression spanned across her face. She appeared concerned, though Louis wasn’t sure concern was something a five year old was capable of feeling.  


“Are you coming with us, papa?” she asked.  


Louis offered a weak smile. He kept his voice down when he said, “Not this time, lovey. I’m afraid daddy isn’t feeling too well. I’m going to stay here and make sure he’s okay.”  


She frowned. “What’s wrong with daddy?” 

Gemma was on her knees, helping Kyra zip the front of her puffy, purple jacket. Michal was doing the same, but for Aidan.

“He’s got a bit of a headache. Nothing to fret about, sweets. He just needs some rest.”  


Next came her Disney Princess hat. Sewn into its pink exterior were patches of Ariel, Aurora and Tiana and a pink puffball at the top. Gemma pulled the knit material over her ears.  


“Be good for Aunt Gem and Grandma, okay?”  


“Okay, papa.”  


“We’ll be back in a few hours,” Gemma reminded. “Call if you need anything.”  


Louis nodded, then watched as the quintet left the house. As soon as the door shut behind them, he peeked over his shoulder to check on Harry. He was in the same position he had been in five minutes prior. Odds were he wouldn’t do as much as shift for another couple hours, but Louis hated the idea of leaving him by himself, even if he was asleep.  


So, he waited for Harry to wake. He turned the television on, but kept the volume off and turned the subtitles on. The program playing was a Game of Thrones rerun. Game of Thrones was something he and Harry tuned into every week when it was still airing new episodes. They binged the first few seasons when they first met. It was their television series, which seemed to be the case for a lot of different demographics of couples.  


He did his best to get comfortable. He grabbed a pillow from the recliner, then set it on the ground before shifting positions and laying on the ground, head propped against the pillow. He watched nearly two full episodes, missing the last ten minutes or so of the second episode, before accidentally drifting off.  


Louis woke when Harry stirred. He had become used to sleeping lightly, often having to listen for any sign of disturbance coming of Harry. Sometimes it was a noise, sometimes a gesture (like being kicked), but this time it was a word.  


“Lou…” he muttered, words thick, like his mouth is engulfed by cotton balls. “ _ Lou _ .” The word, the single syllable, in all it’s might, sounded utterly panicked, almost vulnerable, what Louis would describe as disturbed.  


“Hey, hey. I’m here,” Louis said, immediately sitting upright. “It’s alright. I’m right here, Harry.”  


Harry’s eyes were wide and glossy, tears welling up in the corners of them. “I- I-”  


“It’s okay,” he whispered, resting his hand on Harry’s cheek. “Do you know where you are?” 

“I-” He hesitated, peering around the room- “It looks familiar, but I don’t know.”  


Anne’s dark green furniture, wall of wooden and stained glass crosses and abundant family pictures hanging above the television were unique. The objects could not be confused for anyone else’s home. Louis knew if he gave Harry enough time to process his surroundings, he would most likely guess it correctly. But why force him to guess when he was already perturbed?  


“Your mum’s. We’re at your mum’s house for Christmas,” he explained, gently gliding his thumb across Harry’s clenched jaw. “Relax, you’re okay love.”  


“Feel weird.”  


“You had a seizure about-” Unsure of the time, he looked toward the large analog clock on the wall- “four hours ago.”  


“Here?”  


Louis nodded. “Yeah. Your mum, Gemma and Michal took the kids to some festivity in town. They’ll be back soon.” He knew what Harry’s next question would be. “Don’t worry the kids didn’t see your fit.”  


Harry shut his eyes. He appeared pained. Deep creases formed in his forehead and crinkles surfaced near the outer corners of his eyes. The bright, unnatural lighting in the den wasn’t helping the headache Louis guessed Harry was currently coming to terms with.  


“Where am I?” he asked, again.  


Confusion was common after a seizure, but it was also a symptom of a concussion. Though, Louis wasn’t going to panic, not yet, not until another sign of a concussion became evident.  


“Your mum’s. It’s Christmas Eve.”  


Harry met Louis’ eyes for the first time since he woke. “Were you sleeping on the floor?”  


“I wanted to make sure you were okay. Do you feel sick to your stomach right now?”  


“Not anymore than usual,” he joked. A sparkle of coherency crossed his eyes, and this time it lingered.  


“That’s good. Do you want me to grab anything for you? Some water? Another-”  


Harry interrupted. “We were fighting, weren’t we?” 

_ He can remember that, but he can’t remember where he is _ , Louis thought to himself. His shoulders slumped as a heavy sigh extracted itself from his lips. “We don’t need to talk about it right this second.”  


“What were we fighting about?”  


“It’s...not important,” Louis assured. “Can I get you something?”  


“Louis-”  


It was Louis’ turn to interrupt, to guide the conversation, to feel in control for a second. “-Just tell me what you need, Harry. Please.”  


“Some mint tea would be great.”  


Louis bid him goodbye with a kiss on the head, then wandered into the kitchen. He knew where Anne kept her kettle and stockpile of tea and placed the kettle of water on the stove to boil. He set two mint tea bags in a mug on the counter, knowing Harry enjoyed his tea more concentrated.  


In the time it took for Louis to wait for the water to boil, pour the water into the mug, stir in a cube of sugar and bring it to Harry, the rest of the family had returned home. Anne was sitting on the couch beside Harry, who was now sitting up, hand on his kneecap, squeezing.  


Louis set the mug on the coffee table and sat in the recliner to the right of the sofa. “How was the treasure hunt?” he asked.  


“A lot of fun, actually. There were stocking stuffers hidden all over town. Kyra got the dearest little stuffed cat and Aidan found a set of Hot Wheels. Isn’t that wonderful?” Anne smiled. “They went upstairs with Gemma and Michal to freshen up. I think we’re going to go out for dinner since it’s been such a hectic day.”  


Harry reached for the tea, holding it in both hands as he brought it to his lips. “I think I’ll stay here,” he said. “I’m not feeling the greatest.”  


“I’ll stay here with him.”  


Anne nodded. She had been handling Harry’s ever since he was a child. Of course she understood that he didn’t feel well. Louis admired her patience. He hoped he came across as poised as she did. “We can bring food back for the two of you. Make sure you have a look at the menu before we leave.”  


“Perfect. Thank you, Anne.”

An awkward silence filled the room. Anne and Louis exchanged a knowing look. They needed to acknowledge discuss what had initiated the fight earlier. It seemed that Harry was stable enough to handle a serious conversation.  


“Is this about what happened earlier?” Harry asked, breaking the silence before either of them could think of something to say. “What were we fighting about?”  


“You got upset because I told your mum about…” Louis paused, meeting his eyes. “I told her about your stay in the hospital a few weeks ago.”  


“Oh…” Harry set his tea down. “ _That_.”  


“Yeah,  _ that _ .”  


“I think a good place to start would be explaining to me what happened. It doesn’t seem like it was one of your typical hospital visits,” Anne said, eyes glued on Harry.  


Anyone could tell that Harry was uncomfortable. All the color had flushed from his face. His shoulders were slumped. He was twiddling his thumbs, twisting the rings on his fingers.  


“It wasn’t,” Harry said.  


“I need you to tell me what happened. I’d rather hear it from you than from Louis.”  


Louis watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down not once, but twice. “I- I tried to kill myself,” he whispered, voice quivering.  


It was the first time Louis heard Harry say it out loud. He flinched at the harsh diction. It felt like all the air had been knocked out of his lungs by a giant fist containing honesty. Hearing him say it aloud made Louis wonder if Harry would actually recognize the pain he was going through himself, but the turmoil he forced Louis through.

_ Louis quit processing what had happened as soon as he arrived at the hospital. The only thought he had was ‘Harry is going to die and it’s because of me’. Harry was going to die because he spent more time at the studio than he should have. Because sometimes it seemed like he cared more about his clients than his own husband. Because he arrived home too late that night.  
_

_ He hadn’t bothered changing. As soon as the paramedics left the premises with Harry in tow, after telling Louis he couldn’t tag along in the ambulance because the probability of Harry dying was high, he hopped in his car and sped across town to the nearest hospital.  
_

_ When he stepped foot into the hospital, clothes drenched from the water smothering the tile in the bathroom and the showerhead (following his unwillingness to listen to the phone operator) pelting down on him and his husband, the lady at the front desk had the audacity to ask him if he was the one who needed help. Maybe he should have taken into account how distressed he looked. Not only was he wet, but he was covered in vomit and his face was puffy and red from crying.  
_

_ “Sir, can I help you?” The lady asked. “What’s wrong?”  
_

_ “My husband,” Louis said. “He was just admitted. Brought here by ambulance. Are there any updates about his condition?”  
_

_ The lady studied him for a moment. “Is there someone I can call for you? Someone who can maybe bring you new clothes?”  
_

_ “My husband,” Louis said. His words felt like honey, thick, stuck to the back of his throat, hard to expel. He felt lightheaded, like he was going to pass out any moment.  
_

_ “Sir, you just said he was admitted. Now, is there someone I can-”  
_

_ “Where’s my husband?” His voice quivered. Tears filled his eyes. “I- I just want to know where my husband is. Please, help me.”  
_

_ The lady sighed. Louis hadn’t even paid attention to the piece of plastic clipped to the front of her blouse. Her name was printed in black bolded letters:  _ **_Charlotte_ ** _. Just like his sister, but he couldn’t make the connection.  
_

_ “I think you’re in shock, darling. Come, let’s sit you down,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. She led him over to a row of five chairs facing the wall. “I’ll see what I can find out for you. In the meantime, I’m going to send a nurse out here to check on you. Have a seat.” _

_ Louis pulled away from her touch. “I don’t need fucking help,” he sobbed, doubling over. “My husband- God, my husband. Is he dead?”  
_

_ “What is your husband’s name, dear? I can look him up in the system.”  
_

_ “Harry.”  
_

_ “Harry what?” she asked. Louis didn’t understand how she could remain calm. How could she remain calm when there was a smelly, drenched almost thirty man sobbing at her feet at one in the morning?  
_

_ “Tomlinson,” he sniffed, “but he might be in the system as Harry Styles-Tomlinson.”  
_

_ “Okay. I’ll be right back, hun.”  
_

_ She had located his name in the computer, returning to tell Louis he was stable and a doctor would be out to talk to him later in the evening. Then, just as she had said earlier, a nurse in dark green scrubs came out to the Accident and Emergency waiting room to check him out. She was soft spoken and kind. After finding there was nothing wrong with him, she brought him a pair of spare scrubs and a glass of lukewarm water.  
_

He hadn’t been right since that night. He had yet to sleep properly, only getting a couple hours here and there if he was lucky. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Harry’s pale face and the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He fretted all day that he would walk into a similar situation. If he left Harry alone for more than a few minutes, would he jump off the deep end and try to end his life again?  


It wasn’t helping that Harry wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t have an open conversation with him, would turn and walk the other way every time he did as much as reference it. Louis wasn’t sure their relationship would ever be okay.  


“You  _ what _ ? I- You tried to- When- Why?” she stuttered.  


“I don’t know,” Harry mumbled.  


Louis shook his head. “But you do. You do know and I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you. It’s been weeks of me not knowing what to do. Not knowing whether or not you’re about to hurt yourself again. Trying to have an honest, open ended conversation with you. But you keep blowing me off like I don’t matter. That’s not fair, Harry.”  


Harry looked up. “Well, it’s not exactly easy for me to talk about.”

“I understand that, but I want to help you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. So, let me help you. Let’s cut the crap and be honest with each other.” After not receiving a response from Harry, he added, “Please?”  


“I don’t know.”  


“Why am I just now hearing of this?” Anne asked. “I should have been one of the first people you called.”  


“I told him not to,” Harry answered, face now buried in his palm. “I- I was ashamed. I don’t know.”  


“It doesn’t matter. I’m your mother.” Anne stared at Louis. “And how- how did you…”  


“Overdosed,” Harry said, finally. “On my medication.”  


Louis shakily inhaled. He should have known it was going to take his mum leading the conversation, asking the hard questions for them to have a candid conversation.

“Why?” she asked.  


Harry sighed. “I’m tired, mum. I could tell everyone else was too. I thought it was the only way to put an end to it. Do you know how much having epilepsy sucks? Having to be medicated, feeling the symptoms all day everyday, not knowing if a seizure is going to obstruct my day or not. It sucks. I was tired of it.”  


“Nobody is tired of you,” Louis said.  


“You say that, but I’ve noticed how things have changed since we got married, since we adopted Kyra. You’re always at work, Louis. Always at the studio, always with Liam, always out of town. You drown yourself in your work.”  


“Because I want to be successful, Harry. Because I want to make peoples’ dreams come true. Not because I don’t care about you or because I’m sick of you. I love you, and if this wasn’t working for me anymore I would talk to you about it, not run away from it like a child.”  


Louis couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could Harry think so lowly of him? Was he really that wrapped up in his work? He thought he had done a good job of splitting his time between work and home.  


“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not. I always thought you wanted me to do my own thing. You always talked about how you didn’t want my life to be consumed by your illness when we were younger.” He furrowed his brow. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I don’t spend all that time at work to be away from you, I do what I do because I thought it was what you wanted.”  


Harry met his eyes. “But do you love me?”  


“Yes. God, yes. A million times over. I wouldn’t change anything. I’m happy being with you.”  


Harry began to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”  


Anne pulled him into her chest, arms wrapped around her son as intense sobs raged through him.  


Louis knelt down in front of, hands on his thighs. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. I forgive you, and we’re gonna figure this out.”

He pulled away from Anne, now looking at Louis. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Tears and snot coated his face. “I- I shouldn’t have done that to you. I’m selfish. I’m so selfish. It wasn’t fair to you. I- I just didn’t want to live anymore. I’m- I’m-”

“Shh.” Now, Louis was climbing onto Harry’s lap and taking his face into his hands. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you, not even a little. Listen to me when I say we’re gonna figure this out. I love you. I’m going to help you.”  


“Louis, I didn’t even consider you. I didn’t consider our  _ daughter.  _ I’m fucking selfish. I only thought about myself and how I felt,” he cried. “I’m a piece of shit.”  


“Hey, hey.” He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. “It’s okay. I understand you need help. It’s okay to need help. I need help too.”  


Harry lifted his head. “You do?”  


“Of course, I do.” Louis wiped his tears with his thumb. “When we were talking upstairs you made me realize that I have my own problems to work through. We can do that together, and after Christmas we can look into those options.”  


Gemma’s voice suddenly echoed from the stairwell. “Mum, are you ready to- oops, am I interrupting something?” she asked, crossing the living room. “What’s going on?”

“He isn’t feeling well,” Louis said, still sat in Harry’s lap. Though, now his hand was resting on Harry’s jaw and Harry had both arms wrapped around Louis in an iron grip.  


Gemma grimaced. “Is there anything you need me to do?”  


“No thank you, love.”  


“Okay.” She looked at her mother. “Are you ready to go to dinner?”  


The look on Anne’s face was one of confusion as though she was trying to process what her son and son-in-law had told her moments before. “Oh, yes. Of course.” She looked at Harry and Louis. “I’ll send you the menu on the way to the restaurant, okay? I love you both.” 

The endless eruption of apologies that occurred earlier did not do much to aid Harry’s seizures as he had a complex partial in the shower later in the evening. As Louis was getting ready for bed, changing into a pair of pajama pants, he heard a loud bang come from the bathroom, and even though he figured it was a shampoo bottle, or something similar, hitting the ground, his adrenaline ran high.  


“Harry?” he called.

No response.  


“Harry, you okay?”  


Again, nothing. He decided to check on him.

When he stepped into the bathroom, he found Harry sitting naked on the shower floor, hitting his chest with an open palm. “Oh baby,” he whispered. He opened the shower door, turned the faucet off and bent down eye to eye with Harry. “Hey, you’re having a seizure, baby. It’s alright. It’ll be okay.” He reached for Harry’s hand and intertwined their fingers, slotting their thumbs together. “You’ll come out of it any second now. I’m right here, lovely.”  


A few moments later, Harry did come out of it. He blinked a couple of times, jostled his head around, then studied Louis. “What are you doing in my shower?” he asked, voice weak. “Why am I sitting on the ground?”  


“You had a small seizure,” Louis said. “How about we stand you up and get you in bed?”  


Harry slowly nodded. “Sounds good to me.”  


“Okay.” Louis maneuvered, grabbing both of his hands. “It’s gonna be a little slick. Be careful.” He pulled Harry to his feet, but as he did so, his husband fell into him. Louis placed one hand on the small of his back, steadying him. “Whoa easy. Easy, easy. You okay?”  


“Body hurts,” he mumbled into the crook of Louis’ neck.  


“I know. Let’s get you in bed.” He led Harry into the bedroom and sat him on the bed. “I laid your boxers out for you earlier,” he said, gesturing to the dark green underwear hung over the foot of the bed.  


“Thanks, Lou.”  


Louis sat beside him as he slid each leg into his boxers then tugged them up to his waist. The band snapped against his flesh. “How are you feeling?” 

“I was good up until I had that seizure.” He laid back on the bed, fixating on one of the wooden tiles on the ceiling.  


Louis followed suit, laying beside him. “It’s okay. It’s been a stressful day.” Both of them stayed silent until Louis said, “You know I started looking into counseling…”  


Harry turned to face him. “Oh yeah?”  


“Some of the best chronic illness therapists are in Utah and Washington State. There’s also a ton of Substance Abuse therapists. If I’m not actively using, I don’t see any reason to seek a rehabilitation facility, but I’m going to make this promise to you. If you start seeing a therapist, I will start seeing a therapist.”  


Harry smiled. “So, what you're saying is we’re going be okay?”  


“I know we have a long way to go, but we’re gonna be okay. I promise.”


End file.
